


Over

by Derora



Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-11
Updated: 2013-01-11
Packaged: 2017-11-25 02:58:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/634390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Derora/pseuds/Derora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tom Paris and relationships rarely go together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Over

**Author's Note:**

> Written and originally posted in 2002. Edited by Stef. Quoted song lyrics are from "I'm Gonna Be Strong" by Mann & Weil, ©1964.

Over  
By Derora

 

_I can see, you’re slipping away from me_   
_And you’re so afraid, I’ll plead with you to stay._   
_But I’m gonna be strong, and let you go your way._

 

It’s over. I can see it in the way he stays late in his office, as if he were so busy out here in the middle of nowhere. I can hear it in his voice, when he hesitates a second too long before saying, “I love you, too.” I can feel it, oh gods, in the way he doesn’t touch me until he’s almost forced into it.

I should be grateful, I guess. It’s lasted longer than I expected. And shorter than I wanted, of course. Why does it have to be so fucking hard? I swear I don’t understand. You want someone, they want you. You try it out, it works, and you have fun. And maybe, just maybe, you fall in love. Why can’t that be enough? Why is it always so awkward, so painful?

And you know what the worst thing is? You can’t even enjoy the pain, bad as it is. You can’t just break down and wallow in it and get off on the fact that life just sucks. No, you have to be a man. You have to be a tough guy and tell him, “Hey, no, it’s cool. No problem. No big deal.”

Damn it, it is a big deal. I love him. Yeah, go figure. He’s the one who talked me into this, and now I don’t want to let him go. But he’s already gone, isn’t he? I can feel the distance that wasn’t there before. I can smell his fear, feel his discomfort. He’s ready to go. I want to fall to my knees and wrap my arms around his legs so tightly that he’ll never leave me, but I won’t. I can’t. Oh, gods, I want to. 

_Our love is gone, there’s no use in holding on_   
_‘Cause your pity now would be too much to bear._   
_So I’m gonna be strong, and pretend I don’t care._

“Tom, we have to talk.” Shit, I hate that phrase. If I had a credit for every time someone has said that to me, I’d be a rich man. And you know, it’s always them saying it to me. Never the other way around. That’s kind of pathetic, now that I think about it. Do I need sex so badly that I can’t dump anyone? No. Face the facts, Tommy Boy. You know what you need. And every once in a while, you have it for a short time. Like now.

So what goes wrong? They know what I’m like, I know what they’re like, so everyone goes in eyes wide open, right? But every fucking time, a few weeks, maybe a few months later, it’s “Tom, we have to talk.” What’s there to talk about? They just say it’s over and assume that I’ll say okay and leave quietly. And I do. I’m always so overpowered by the pain that I can’t make my mouth say the words to argue, to plead.

You know what he said? That I was smothering him. Can you fucking believe that? He chases after me, and I’m smothering him. Maybe I do. I just want…more. I mean, if you’re going to let yourself love someone, why shouldn’t you want it all? Is it really that much to expect, that the other person let you in, offer up everything? I don’t think it is.

He wants space. He thinks we should just be friends. Hell, friends I got, but sure, why not? Friends. We’ll have a drink, we’ll shoot a round, and I’ll smile and everything will be copacetic. I can do a good “friends” act. I’ve certainly had enough practice. Sometimes it feels like half the people on this ship are my friends.

I’m so tired of this. I honestly wonder why I keep trying. There’s just this hole inside me that needs so much. Sometimes I feel like it’s gotten so big that it’s eaten the rest of my body away and all that’s left is the hole. No more me, just a hole. And I don’t know how to fill it any more.

Come on, Tommy Boy. One more time. Tough it out, put on the Flyboy face. Don’t let it show, don’t let it out. If it gets out, it’ll take me with it. And then there’ll be nothing left.

_When you say it’s the end, I’ll just hand you a line_   
_I’ll smile and say, ‘Don’t you worry, I’m fine.’_   
_And you’ll never know, darling, after you kiss me goodbye_   
_How I’ll break down and cry._


End file.
